Scream, Isabella
by AcrossTheSkyInStars
Summary: Bella is an actress in Chicago suffering from a sudden bout of insomnia. Edward is the stunning, mysterious man she stumbles across in a bar one night. Originally written for the FFA anon contest. This story will be continued. Rated M for mature themes.
1. Nightmare

A/N: This is a story I came up with for the anon contest over at my lovely FFA group on Facebook. It ranked third in both judge's choice and public vote, so thank you to those who voted!

I have decided to continue this. It was originally a one-shot (chapters one and two together), but I have split them up into two and will continue on with the story. Updates may not be relatively frequent since I still have school, but I'll do as best I can!

My picture prompt for the contest and a banner I created for this story can be found on my profile.

Thank you to AsktheMagic8Ball and Feral for editing this.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Hello there, the angel from my nightmare

The shadow in the background of the morgue

The unsuspecting victim"

-Blink-182: I Miss You

* * *

b.p.o.v

I sit on the edge of the stage, leaning back on my hands as I tilt my head up toward the high, vaulted ceiling. I cross my ankles one over the other, swaying them languidly as I try to drown out the sound of my boss' irritated voice.

Esme Everett, the owner and producer, is on her sixth lecture of the night, outlining what she expects of us and how we are to deliver our performance with the _utmost sincerity_, how we are supposed to perform at rehearsal like we would on opening night.

I blow my bangs from my eyes and yawn, utterly bored with the monotony of her speech, because this is a lecture I have come to know. I have heard it thousands of times before, if not more.

Her words are slightly repetitive as she speaks, but she gets her point across: she won't accept anything less than our best. When she's finished with her shrill rant, she proceeds to scald the new guy, Michael, for screwing up his lines for the fourth time in a scene that's no more than two minutes long.

"We can't do this on opening night," Esme says matter-of-factly. "We either do it right, or we don't do it at all. The reputation of this theatre has grown from our dedication, and I plan to keep it that way," she looks directly at Michael, "got it?"

Michael nods ruefully and bows his head, probably ashamed, which he should be.

Because really, _I _know his lines...and I'm not even in his scene.

Esme dismisses us for the night, waving her hand in a flourish as she descends the stairs to the stage and leaves through the main doors at the back of the theatre. I can't recall ever seeing her so irritated after a rehearsal in all the four years I've been working for her, and I shake my head, rolling my eyes as the rest of the cast sighs in relief.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who takes this job seriously.

I understand why some of them hate her; I do. I love the woman for being so passionate about theatre, but when she gets on a roll like that, it's hard to see her redeeming qualities. I know they're there, though. I have known her long enough to see she's simply trying to make us better, even if she does sound like a raving bitch.

I haul myself up, stretching my back as Rose stands and shakes her long, blonde hair out of its bun. She combs her fingers through the silken curls, tilting her head. "So, drinks tonight?" she asks.

I shrug, following her to our bags which sit on the seats in front of the stage. "Sure," I reply, "want me to ask Angela and Ben if they want to come?"

"Go for it," Rose says uninterestedly. I gather my things as she slips off her ballet flats and strips from her rehearsal outfit. Although Esme assures us we aren't required to rehearse in our costumes until a few days before production, a lot of the actors do to get into character.

While Rose undresses, I take off my own flats and stuff them into my bag, slipping on my comfortable sneakers. I flip my hair over my shoulders and my eyes travel down a few seats, to where Michael is standing, dumb as a post, completely mesmerized.

It takes me a moment to realize he's staring past me at a half-naked Rosalie.

Newton is the new guy – he doesn't understand yet. Dressing and undressing in front of the cast is something you just do. There is nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of; nobody even bats an eye anymore when someone strips down to their underwear.

But, Newton is new, and since he hasn't seen Rose's goods yet, he is ogling her like she's a turkey dinner.

I cough discreetly to keep from smiling and say loudly enough for her to hear, "Looks like you have an audience."

She turns her head slowly, glancing over at Michael before she shoots me a subtle wink. I watch in amusement as she adjusts her bra, rakes her hair over her shoulders, and saunters over to him. She stops at the chair next to his with her hand on her hip and smiles.

"Hey, Mike," she says in an attractive drawl, "how's it going?"

I watch the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows apprehensively and finally tears his eyes away from her provocative attire.

"Uh-h..." he stutters, at a loss for words. Rose laughs and slips her fingers under her thong, intentionally snapping the flimsy material against her hip.

"Well, good talking to you," she says, giving him a sweet smile before she walks away.

She bursts out laughing when she reaches me, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle the sound. "What an idiot," she whispers with a shake of her head. I laugh in agreement before I slip on my jacket and wait for her to get changed.

We find Angela and Ben on our way out and convince them to join us for drinks. We leave the theatre together, chatting idly on our walk down the windy streets of Chicago to the local bar. I draw my jacket up tighter, clutching my bag close, and duck my head against the biting chill of the night. It's unusually cold for early October, but to be honest, I kind of like it.

Fall is my favourite time of year.

I follow Rose inside when we get there, holding the door open for Ben and Angela behind me. I revel in the dense warmth of the bar and the overwhelming smell of alcohol, drawing in a deep breath as I smile at the familiarity of the place, the feeling of comfort. Rose walks purposefully to a table in the middle of the room, unzips her jacket, and drapes it over the back of one of the seats. I do the same, tucking my bag underneath the table as I rub my hands over my exposed arms.

We sit down for a few minutes, going over the drink menus before a perky waitress by the name of Alice comes to serve us. She's bubbly, energetic, and _way _too happy to not be on something. She smiles enthusiastically, prattling on about drink choices and asking us whether or not we'd like to see a food menu.

We quickly decline, and when she bounces away to bring us shots of tequila and a pitcher of beer, I decide whatever she's on must be a strong stimulant. The walls of the bar can barely contain her bizarre exuberance.

After Alice returns with our drinks, we sit comfortably and enjoy them for a while. We knock back tequila and beer, talking about work because it's really the only thing we all have in common. We laugh at Newton's expense, making bets on when he'll finally get the boot, because with Esme as our boss, we know it's bound to happen.

I shake with Ben that Newton will be gone by the end of the week.

I tip back a fourth shot of tequila, wincing at the potency as I slam the glass down on the table and shove the lemon wedge into my mouth. I squint at the sour flavour; shivering at how deliciously disgusting it is as I stuff the shrivelled lemon into the shot glass.

I lean my head back, putting my hands on either side of my face as heat rushes to my cheeks. I can feel the effects of the alcohol warming my entire body, prickling my arms and shoulders, trickling up my neck. I tip my chin down, and when I focus, I find my gaze drawn to another pair of eyes, on the other side of the room.

It's then I realize the tequila isn't entirely to blame for the heat that consumes me.

_It's him._

A dark mess of hair catches my attention before I take in the rest of his face – the unnaturally pale skin, the thin, soft-looking lips, the hypnotic, penetrating eyes. His features are slightly illuminated by the dim lights, casting perfect shadows over his high cheekbones and the sharp, clean lines of his jaw.

He's leaning back casually in his seat, one arm draped across the top of the booth, his other resting on the table. His pose is comfortable, languid, and I stare...gawk, maybe, at how ridiculously _perfect _he looks.

I'm conscious of the fact I've been watching him for over a minute now, but for some reason, he doesn't seem to mind. He doesn't move...he doesn't blink, he simply stares back at me, studying me with eyes that won't allow mine to look away.

My chest tightens the longer I look at him and my breathing changes. I feel the flush of warmth, the heat spreading over my arms and my chest, as the handsome stranger carefully eyes me from across the room. I swallow anxiously, and when I lick my lips to moisten the skin, his mouth curves up at the corners, forming the most attractive half-smile I've ever seen in my life.

The air in my lungs whooshes out in a breathy sigh, causing my cheeks to redden instantly in sheer embarrassment. I quickly look away from the beautiful man, sinking back into my seat as I flip my hair over my shoulders to cover my face.

_I can't believe I just did that._

I don't look back over at him, too mortified to even take a breath. I sip on my beer instead, resigned to the fact that I've had too much to drink, and I don't need any more. I toy with the coaster, tearing little pieces off while I listen to Angela and Ben discuss something that doesn't really interest me. Rose has gone off on her own, maybe to dance, or what is more likely the case, to flirt with the hot bartender.

Thankfully, my skin cools after a while. The humiliation I feel slowly seeps away, and I sit up straighter, downing the last mouthful of my beer before I decide to take my chances again. I turn slowly, glancing over my shoulder toward the back corner. I'm met with the same eyes as before, not as overly intense, but still just as breathtaking as the first time.

To make up for my idiotic behaviour earlier, I don't stare. I look away, push my chair from the table, and stand up. I stretch my arms and jut out my chest a little, not enough to be deemed slutty, but enough to warrant the attention of a certain onlooker.

I bend down, grabbing my bag from under the table before I gather my hair into a ponytail and put on my coat. I bid Angela and Ben goodnight, and as I walk to the door, I do my best to keep my gaze on my destination.

I don't look back over into the corner, but _God, _do I want to.

I have enough self-restraint to leave the bar without casting another glance to the most beautiful man in Chicago.

.

.

Later on, when I curl up in bed with a book, my thoughts stray. I stare at the pages, losing myself between the lines as I think about the man from the bar and how ridiculously attractive he was. I can't seem to shake the brief encounter we had or the way he was looking at me, the undeniably intense gaze that sent shivers rippling up my spine.

With a sigh, I shut the book. I toss it onto the nightstand and lean over to shut off the light, and when I lie back down, I thread my fingers methodically through my hair in an attempt to clear my mind. It's hard to fall asleep with so much to think about, but eventually, I do.

And it's the first night I wake up screaming.

I'm short of breath and sweating, lying awake in bed like I've been electrically shocked. I stare at the ceiling, raking my eyes over the plain, white expanse when I try to recall the dream. I can't seem to piece it together, and I swallow uneasily, pulling the blanket up around my chin as I turn on my side.

I close my eyes, pursing my lips tightly until I fall back into a restless sleep.

.

.

"You look like shit," Rose says the next evening at rehearsal.

I yawn, lethargically taking off my jacket as I slump down in the seat next to her. "Hello to you, too," I reply sarcastically. Rose snickers at my response, and I admit, "I didn't sleep very well. Bad dream or something." I pause to remove my shoes and change the subject. "So, how was your night? Finally seduce the bartender?"

She squeals loudly, a sound that is completely girly and _not at all_ Rose. "Yes," she gushes, turning to me as she elegantly crosses her legs, "and it was..."

She trails off, probably reliving her orgasm-infused night, and I shake my head. "Magical, amazing...best sex of your life?" I offer jokingly.

She cocks her brow at me with a sly smile. "All of the above," she agrees.

I laugh, and just as I'm about to ask her for the steamy details, the doors to the theatre fly open. Esme storms in, possibly more irritated than the night before, which is certainly saying something. I sit up attentively, watching as she makes her way to the stage and stands at the top of the steps. The entire theatre falls silent, every member of the cast fearful to take a wrong breath on Esme's watch.

She begins with a warning: she's not in a generous mood and will not tolerate incompetence tonight. I glance around, looking for Michael among the crowd of actors – the only one I expect to screw up. I find him about ten seats away, nervously biting the inside of his cheek while his leg jiggles in unease.

Once Esme's finished with her icy greeting, we promptly begin rehearsal. I'm one of the four lovers in _A Midsummer Night's Dream, _hopelessly in love with Ben's character even though he has been tricked to fall out of love with me.

The practice is running smoothly, all the lines are delivered to Esme's liking, and the blocking is falling into place. Esme smiles when she's supposed to smile and stops the performance to offer tips and suggestions, sometimes changing a certain pose or stance in a scene.

I exit to the side of the stage, rolling my shoulders as Rose passes me and heads out with Michael and a few other cast members. Another scene begins and I watch, crossing my fingers that he won't screw up, just this one time.

But apparently, it's too much to ask.

I curse under my breath when Michael fumbles with his words, stammering like he's lost his vocabulary in the span of three seconds.

"Cut!" Esme yells from the red velvet seats. She beckons Michael down the steps, speaking to him in a tone so hushed I can't make out her words. He nods intermittently, sighing as he trudges back up to the stage and takes his place next to Angela.

I wish that was the extent of his misfortune, but sadly, it's not.

It happens again a few minutes later. Michael stumbles over his words, Esme calls for a cut, and they speak quietly. She stands up this time when he walks away, pacing the area in front of the stage as Michael gets back up there and starts over.

Two more painful times after that, and Esme's had enough. She's so furious with his performance she fires Michael right on the spot.

I sigh from my position offstage even though I won the bet; rehearsal is done for the night.

I'm a little annoyed it's been cut short – _again_ – so I keep to myself. I head down to my bag and toe off my flats before I quickly shove my sneakers onto my feet. I sit back in the seat, watching as the rest of the cast changes and gets ready to go home.

"Wow," Rose comments as she starts getting redressed, "I can't believe how badly Newton sucks."

I shrug, "Yeah, well..."

My irritation must be palpable because Rose makes a face at me. "Who pissed in your corn flakes?" she retorts in offense.

I shake my head, "It's just...nothing, never mind. I had a bad night."

She sits down beside me, putting her hand on my knee and squeezing affectionately. I would have felt comforted, you know, had she _not _been sitting there in her bra and jeans.

"Come on," she says with a nod toward the doors, "let me buy you a drink."

.

.

Rose doesn't even have to twist my arm when she offers to pay. We go to the same bar as the night before, without the company of Angela and Ben because it's their three year anniversary and they want to celebrate alone.

I don't really mind that it's just us. Rose is a good friend.

When we get to the bar, I find myself distracted. I impulsively look for the beautiful man, searching the booth he had occupied the previous night. I'm disheartened he's not there, but not entirely surprised.

I don't exactly expect to see him here two nights in a row. I was just...hopeful.

"So, what'll it be?" Rose asks, not-so-discreetly looking toward the bar and craning her neck.

I smirk at her lack of subtlety as we sit down, "The usual, I guess."

"Uh-huh," she replies absently.

I laugh quietly to myself before I regain my composure. "I love your giraffe imitation," I jibe, "although, you might get a kink in your neck if you do that for much longer."

She turns her head, glaring at me before she scans the bar once again. "I just want to see if he's here," she replies. She stops for a moment, still as a statue, then turns and sighs, "He's here."

I smile, "So...what's his name?"

She bites her lip, resting her elbows on the table as she replies, "Emmett. He's such a...sweet guy. I really like him." Rose opens her mouth to continue, but Alice shows up, just as vivacious as the night before. I smirk at her positive attitude even though it is a tad annoying; she seems like a nice girl.

Rose and I order a round of shots to start off before we each grab a beer – the usual, for us. She doesn't bring up Emmett again, but she keeps glancing in his direction, watching him as she tries to stay in the conversation. I don't blame her for being sidetracked, but I start to feel invisible after a while, like she isn't even paying attention to me anymore.

I huff and sit back in my seat when Rose excuses herself to use the bathroom. I chug the rest of my beer, setting my glass on the table before I let my gaze travel the busy bar. My eyes scan the booth that was empty when we came in, but to my elation, it's now occupied.

_Hello, beautiful. _

I smile involuntarily, catching a glimpse of him just when he sits down. He doesn't see me so I take advantage of his obliviousness, watching as he sets his coat on the seat and exchanges words with Alice, unleashing his gorgeous smile on her. I marvel at how damn _pretty _he is, biting my lip as my eyes roam his slim, strong frame. His muscled arms peek out from his dark t-shirt, and if I wasn't staring before, I certainly am now.

All I can think about is licking those muscles.

I look away quickly, fearful that I might actually drool over his ridiculous perfection. I turn back when Rose sits down and I know she can sense my change in demeanour – it's written all over my flushed cheeks.

"You okay?" she asks bemusedly.

I clear my throat, "Yeah, peachy."

She doesn't believe me in the least, but she lets me be.

We order another round of shots. We talk and we laugh. My eyes wander, like Rose's do, and they eventually meet those of the beautiful man. I try not to stare, but with such an intense gaze, it's hard to look away.

Rose coughs suggestively when I'm particularly distracted and she laughs, "Find a little something for yourself, there, did yah?"

I blush at how obvious I'm being. "I...don't know," I reply, "he's-"

"Gorgeous?" she offers. "Sexy? Damn, Bella, go get him!"

"Rose!" I chastise, like he would somehow be able to hear her through the distance and noise. "I can't just...go over to him."

"Why not?" she counters. "I totally would if I were you." I shrug self-consciously because I've never been particularly confident in _that _aspect. At least not as confident as Rose is when it comes to men. "Okay," she sighs, knowing when she shouldn't push me. "Since you're preoccupied, do you mind if I go talk to Emmett for a bit?"

I purse my lips and shake my head. "Nah," I say nonchalantly, "go ahead."

After Rose leaves, I don't really drink anymore. I relax and uninterestedly watch a football game on one of the flat screens, often casting a glance to the beautiful man. Warmth tickles me each and every time he meets my eyes, and although I expect it to go away, it doesn't.

It seems to be a natural reaction to him.

I'm about to get up to 'break the seal' when Alice sets a martini glass in front of me, filled to the top with a soft, cream-coloured liquid. I look at her quizzically, catching her smile when she takes a step back. "Compliments of the gentleman in the corner booth," Alice says, holding out a white cocktail napkin.

Curiosity and interest nag at me, so I take it. I straighten out the creases, feeling the heat in my cheeks as they flame with my blush.

_Someone so beautiful shouldn't be sitting alone_

I smile down at the napkin, entirely flattered by his kind words. I comb my fingers through my hair, wondering acutely how I should respond. I'm not sure if I should take this as an invitation to join him or play hard to get. When I look up and meet his eyes, when I see his devilish half-smile, I decide to go with the latter.

"Alice, wait!" I call as she walks away. She bounces back, perky as ever, and I say, "Um, can you give something to him for me?"

She smiles, "Sure."

I write a response on a napkin, fold it, and slip it into Alice's hand. She gives me a subtle wink before she weaves her way through the bar and drops the napkin off on his table without pausing for his reaction. I bite on my nail, watching as he smoothes it out.

He shakes his head at my reply with a ghost of a smile on those perfect lips.

_Thanks for the drink_

He nods in my direction, holding the napkin up between his fingers. I smile in return and pick up my drink, fingering the straw before I use it to swirl around the ice cubes. I take a tentative sip and hum in surprise when it's perfectly sweet and delicious. I have no idea what it is, but I like it.

I sip on my drink for a while, glancing at the beautiful man intermittently, eyeing him from across the room as he watches me back. I try to refrain from making myself so apparent in my perusal of him, but I can't seem to catch him off-guard. Every time I look over, he's looking at me in return.

It's making me a little hot.

I fan my face with the tiny napkin and tilt my head back, trying to circulate the stifling air around me. It's impossible to get cool knowing he's watching me, so I give up, tossing the napkin back onto the table.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" Alice asks sweetly when she passes by.

I tip back the last of my drink and shake my head. "No thanks, I'm good." She responds with a friendly smile, and just as she's about to leave, I ask, "Hey, Alice, what's this drink called?"

I hold up the glass and she smirks. She leans in closer and lowers her voice, her bright, baby blue eyes on mine, "It's called a screaming orgasm."

Flustered doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling.

Alice leaves me, and I sit there, stunned, staring at the empty glass while my entire body prickles with excitement and anxiety. I carefully set the glass down and twist my torso, looking over my shoulder into the back corner.

The beautiful man is gone.

.

.

_Hard rain pounds down around me, filling the darkened streets. I trudge through it, sloshing water into my shoes in my attempt to run. The heavy storm obscures my vision, and I squint against it, pushing my legs as fast as they will take me. _

_I can't seem to recall what I'm running from, but I keep going. I need to get away._

_Street after street passes but they're all the same – nameless, generic. Store windows blur by, lamp posts appear in the exact same place. With each block I push my legs against the wretched burning in my thighs, nothing changes._

_I run for miles on the same street, until I can barely breathe, and it's then that I stop._

_Because it's then that I see him – a man_.

And it's the second night I wake up to the sound of my own scream.

.

.

"Uh...Bella?"

"Yeah, what?" I reply dazedly.

"Are you with me?" Rose asks as she picks at her sandwich. "You look a little out of it."

I shake my head and take a bite of my chicken Caesar wrap. "Sorry," I say dejectedly, "I didn't sleep again last night." I look up at Rose as she cocks her head to the side with concern.

"Are you having nightmares?" she inquires.

I shrug. "I'm not really sure. I just...for the past two nights, I've woken up-" I pause abruptly, staring out the window, watching as the rain falls down outside. It reminds me of my dream and I swallow hard, trying to forget the way I screamed. Rose clears her throat, and I snap my attention back to her. She prompts me to continue my explanation with an impatient wave of her hand.

"Well, I've woken up...screaming," I say quietly, "and it's not just some tiny, nothing of a scream. It's like this horrible, blood-curdling scream."

My skin ripples with goose bumps, and I sink down into my seat, rubbing my fingers over my eyes because I'm thoroughly exhausted from my lack of sleep.

"That's really weird, Bella," she comments. I nod in agreement and she says, "Why don't you try sleeping pills or something?"

I bite my lip as I contemplate her suggestion. "Maybe," I respond.

Rose and I finish our lunch and walk around Chicago for a bit. We talk and shop, enjoying our day off from work more than we can express because Esme's been unusually bitchy lately. Rose brings up the bartender, Emmett, and I listen with genuine interest because I know how rare it is for Rose to find someone worth mentioning.

She usually has horrible taste in men.

After we've sufficiently squandered a few hundred dollars, we head back to my apartment. We cook dinner and spend the evening lounging around, watching movies and eating popcorn. It's relaxing, low-key, and exactly what I need to counter the few nights of weirdness I've been having.

I stretch my legs out on the coffee table in the middle of _The Lost Boys, _humming in comfortable contentment as my eyelids begin to droop. I feel myself nodding off, but when Rose's phone rings, I snap back to reality like I've been slapped in the face.

She picks her phone up from the table, and when she smiles like a lunatic at the screen, I can only guess who's calling. She eagerly answers it, turning away from the movie as she speaks in a hushed tone and giggles.

Rose is rarely one to giggle, at anything.

She hangs up a minute later and looks back at me, giving me a sheepish smile. "Sorry," she says, "but I think I'm going to call it a night, if that's okay with you. Emmett just got off work and he kind of..."

I wave my hand dismissively when she pauses. "It's okay, Rose. Go...hang out with Emmett."

"Really?" she replies uncertainly.

I smile. "Yeah, go. I'll be fine. I'm practically falling asleep anyway."

She leans over, plants a loud kiss on my cheek, and smirks. "You're the best, Bella, thanks."

I shake my head in amusement as she gathers her things, wrestling on her jacket and pulling on her boots. I can tell she's excited to see Emmett by the way she's rushing, and it makes me smile; it's something I've never seen in her before.

I also may be a little jealous of the fact that she has someone, but my happiness for her overrides my internal musings.

Rose heads down to the lobby to wait for Emmett to pick her up, and I lock the door behind her, making sure to deadbolt it because I always do. I yawn tiredly, flicking off the light before I make my way back to the living room to continue watching the movie.

I pull the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over me, leaning comfortably against the cushions and propping my feet up on the table. The movie ends soon after Rose leaves, and I sigh as I turn off the DVD player and bow forward to set the controller down.

When my eyes flicker back up to the TV, I freeze. The blood drains from my face and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end; my fingers shake. I slowly release my grip on the remote, trying to stay as still as possible because of the dark, looming figure that reflects back at me from the TV screen.

Someone is standing behind me.

I brace myself against the coffee table, gripping the blanket tightly in my other hand as I stare at the shadowy figure. I want to move, to do something, but I have no idea what. I'm paralyzed by fear. My chest burns because I've stopped breathing, and my skin is clammy and cold.

I draw in a shaky breath, releasing a small, terrified whimper before I slowly turn my head and look behind me.

But it's all for nothing, because nobody's there.

_I think I'm losing my mind._

Tears flood my vision and I stand up, putting my hand to my stomach because of how queasy I feel. I grab my phone off the end table, clutching it close as I hold the blanket around me and sprint to my bedroom. I slam the door behind me, sobbing quietly because I truly feel like I'm going insane.

I fall asleep on the floor, crying into my palms with my head against the wall and a blanket as my only means of defence.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading, and don't forget to check out the other entries!


	2. Hunger

A/N: This is just part two of my original one-shot. Thank you to AsktheMagic8Ball and Feral for editing.

Enjoy!

* * *

"When the dark of the night

Comes around that's the time

That the animal comes alive

Looking for something wild"

-Kesha: Take It Off

* * *

b.p.o.v

I spend the next four days in a downward spiral.

My nights are long and sleepless, and when I do manage to find unconsciousness, I wake up screaming. My throat is permanently raw from my cries of fear, and the skin under my eyes is now dark and purple from what little sleep I've managed to get. My mind is constantly racing with thoughts, trying to piece together my dreams that are vague and confusing.

The same streets passing me by, the same storm bearing down overhead, and the same unmistakable vision of the obscure man I see standing in front of me just before I scream myself awake.

I'm headed to rehearsal after another sleepless night. I thank the driver and toss some money over the seat before I exit the cab with my bag, drawing my hood up over my head. The rain outside is nearly torrential, and I dash inside the theatre before I get completely soaked.

I warm up instantly, feeling more at home and safe in this place than anywhere else. It's been my only form of solace since my insomnia started, and I'm glad I have an escape, something that can tear me away from my life, even if it's only for a few hours every day.

I make my way between the aisles, down to where most of the cast is already changing. Since this is a dress rehearsal, everyone in the production is required to wear their full costumes to ensure nothing is wrong with the material and everything fits properly.

Mine is a dress, sleeveless and royal blue, with a hem line that skims the floor. It's not much, but it's one of my favourite costumes because it's simple and beautiful.

I find Rose among the rows of seats, changing into her outfit. It's a deep green and shimmers in the dim lights that dot the theatre. I join her, giving her the most normal smile I can muster given the circumstances. She offers me a sympathetic smile in return, focusing her attention on me as I take off my shoes.

"Hey," she says, "how's it going?"

I shrug, "Same old, I guess."

I shimmy out of my jeans and t-shirt, laying them neatly on my chair as I step into my dress.

"Still can't sleep?" she asks in astonishment. I shake my head, pulling the straps over my shoulders, and adjust the dress to fit. "Bella, you really should go to a doctor," she suggests with concern. "Maybe it's something more than just temporary insomnia. Maybe it's something else-"

"I'm fine," I reply sharply as I finish zipping the back of my costume. "Just...back off."

Her brows furrow and she narrows her eyes. "Don't get pissy with me," she retorts. "I'm just trying to fucking help."

I sigh loudly before I rake my fingers through my hair. The threat of angry tears prickles the back of my eyelids, and I bow my head. "I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I just...I don't know what's wrong with me, Rose, and I'm tired. I'm exhausted. I can't sleep for _two minutes_ without screaming bloody murder when I wake up."

She takes a step closer, and when she puts her hand on my shoulder, I look up at the friendly concern on her face. "That's why I'm trying to help, Bella," she reasons. "I hate seeing you like this. I don't know what else to do."

"Thanks," I say earnestly, feeling thoroughly stupid for my behaviour, "I'm sorry for...you know, being such a bitch, but thanks."

She smirks, "Bitch or not, I still love you."

I find enough strength to laugh and follow her to the end of the row. We head down the stairs, preparing for a night of rehearsal; Esme is already onstage, announcing that we will start promptly in five minutes.

Practice is long and tiring, to say the least. I struggle to stay awake some scenes, standing constantly when I'm not onstage instead of sitting to keep from falling asleep. I almost forget my lines at one point, almost stumble over my words, but I catch myself. I deliver the speech perfectly, and when I'm offstage, I want to kick something.

I _never _forget my lines. Ever.

I'm irritated with myself and my lacklustre performance, but Esme doesn't say anything. She congratulates the cast for a perfect evening, stressing that punctuality is crucial tomorrow since it's the night the play debuts.

Opening night is always the most important; it gives me something to look forward to.

Rose and I get redressed in silence, and when I put on my jacket, she clears her throat. "Hey, um...do you want to come to the bar with me?" she asks. "I mean, if you're up for it," she backtracks.

I draw the zipper up to my chest and fluff my hair out around my shoulders. "Uh, sure," I respond with a small nod, "it'll give me something to do, actually. Home hasn't exactly felt like home lately."

She avoids my gaze, probably unsure of what to say to something like that. I just sigh, gathering my dress carefully before I take it down to the stage so I can store it until tomorrow. God knows with my lack of sleep I'd forget something as important as my costume on opening night.

Rose and I haul ass to the bar, getting drenched in the process because it's still monsoon season outside. I'm shivering and shaking by the time we get there, chilled to the bone because a sopping wet winter coat doesn't exactly offer much in the way of wind resistance.

When we walk into the bar, my teeth are practically chattering I'm so cold. I peel off my jacket, hanging it over the seat before I sit down and start shaking again. Alice comes by to serve us, frowning at how we look like we've just stepped out of a hurricane.

"I might have something for you," she says with a look of determination, "I'll be right back."

Rose makes a funny face at her retreating form and turns back to me. Her hunched shoulders quiver from the cold, and she looks at me from across the table, offering me a sad smile. "So, this was a bad idea, yeah?"

I laugh, the sound stuttered and choppy, "No-o, it's okay."

Alice returns a minute later, offering us two oversized sweaters. Elation sweeps over me, and I gratefully take one of them and slip it over my head, basking in the immediate warmth that encompasses me. The sleeves are several inches too long, and I could probably fit two of me inside the sweater, but I don't care. It's warm and dry.

"Thanks, Alice," I say sincerely, "I appreciate it."

She waves her hand coolly while Rose frowns at the sleeves and pulls on the chest to look at the emblem on the front. "Is this Emmett's?" she asks curiously.

Alice chuckles, "Yeah, he tends to leave things here. I remembered seeing them in the back...I know he won't mind."

Rose pulls the collar up to her nose, slumping down into the seat as a small smile pulls at her lips. She thanks Alice as well and orders us some drinks, looking over her shoulder. I look with her, craning my neck to get a glimpse of Emmett. He's a beast of a man, with dark, curly hair, a cute, dimpled smile, and a seriously muscular frame.

He waves a glass in our direction, and we both nod back, in thanks for the sweaters he unknowingly offered.

When I'm comfortable and finally warm, I suddenly remember where I am. I impetuously look for the beautiful man, searching for his familiar face, but my hope quickly fades when his booth is vacant. I'm disappointed, though not entirely surprised.

I only drink a bit at first. I take tiny sips instead of big gulps, knowing how little I've eaten today and how much it will affect me in the morning if I drink too much too fast. I'm almost done with my first beer, and when I watch the miniscule beads of condensation trickling down the side of the glass, something changes.

Suddenly drinking too much too fast doesn't seem like such a _bad_ idea.

_Maybe, if I get drunk enough, I'll just...pass out._

I could get a peaceful night's sleep.

I order a double shot of tequila and another beer, earning a curious glance from Rose. She orders the same, watching me as I wait anxiously for what will hopefully give me what I need to get to sleep. The shots arrive, and I take mine quickly, smacking my tongue against the roof of my mouth in distaste because of the strong liquor.

I wash the flavour down with beer, though, and Rose sets her shot glass on the table, looking at me strangely. "Bella, are you okay?" she asks.

I chug half my beer before I take a breath and sigh, "Yeah...great. Just thirsty, I suppose."

She frowns, "Uh-huh...thirsty."

I ignore her comment, and after that, I drink..._a lot. _Alice cuts me off eventually, saying I've had way too much in the short amount of time I've been there. Rose agrees with her and stops drinking as well, suggesting maybe it's time to go home because I look a little incoherent.

"I'm good," I protest, "seriously."

"Bella, you are _not _good!" Rose hisses at me. "You're exhausted and now you're drunk. Just let me take you home." I stare at her, feeling dizzy, and my vision begins to haze. I'm buzzed, that's for sure, but I'm not drunk – not yet. "Please, Bella," she pleads, "you need to sleep."

_Sleep. Elusive, unobtainable sleep._

She's practically begging me, and since I hate to see her so concerned, I acquiesce. I figure I have a bottle of wine or something useful at home. "Okay," I say in resignation, "okay, Rose, I'm done. I'll go home."

She smiles in relief, asking Alice for the cheque before she goes up to the bar to pay. I wait for her in agitation, impatiently jiggling my leg under the table, and tug at a loose thread on the sleeve of Emmett's sweater. Rose comes back a couple minutes later, with Emmett in tow, claiming they can give me a ride home.

"Rose, it's completely out of your way," I argue, "I'll take a cab."

"Bella, you're not taking a taxi. We can give you a ride," Rose replies.

"Yeah, Bella," Emmett chimes, "it's not a big deal."

I sigh before I remove Emmett's sweater and hand it back to him. "I appreciate the offer, but it's _o-kay_," I retort, strongly stressing that I don't need to be babysat. "I'd like to get some fresh air anyway. Please..."

"Bel-"

"Rose, please," I interrupt, "I _promise _I'll get into a cab."

She sighs, "Fine. But go home; go to sleep. Lord knows you need it." I nod in response, plastering a small smile on my face, and stand up and put on my wet coat. "Text me when you get in, okay?" Rose asks as we head for the doors.

"Yes, Rose," I say with a slight giggle, "anything else?"

She glances at me over her shoulder and snickers, "Yeah, stop being such a snarky bitch."

I laugh loudly and bite my lip as we step outside, underneath the awning that shields us from the storm. Rose and Emmett wave goodbye before he tucks her under his arm, protecting her from the rain as they make their way around the side of the building. I lean back against the cold window, enjoying the peace and quiet for a moment while cars whiz by and frantic people run along the sidewalk, bracing against the harsh conditions.

I stand outside the bar for as long as I can bear, cooling my skin until my cheeks and nose are stinging with numbness. I sniffle and straighten myself up, brushing my damp hair away from my face. I fish my phone out of my pocket, intent on calling for a cab, when I clumsily drop it.

Right into a puddle of water.

"Shit," I curse. I bend down to pick up my waterlogged phone, and when I stand back up again, I unceremoniously bump into someone.

"Oh," I gasp, placing my hand over my chest, "I'm sorry."

I look up, taking in the form of the tall, attractive man in front of me. He is soaked from head to toe, as I had been, water beading on his unnaturally long eyelashes and falling down his perfect, pale cheekbones. His thin lips are dark from the cold rain, and his hair is covering part of his eyes.

_Hallelujah...it's him. _

"It's not a problem," he responds in a deep, striking tenor, "no harm done."

I smile sheepishly, clutching my damaged phone between my shaking fingers. "Okay," I murmur quietly, "thanks."

He smiles in return, slowly combing his long, thin fingers through his darkened hair. He smoothes it from his face, revealing eyes that are almost black in the dim light. I sigh audibly at his near-perfect features and cup my hand over my mouth in embarrassment when I try to pass it off as a yawn.

The beautiful man smirks this time, shifting from one foot to the other. "So," he begins, "where were you headed in such a hurry?"

I'm a little self-conscious at my lack of coordination so I blush. "Just home," I reply. "I wasn't really looking."

He chuckles, casually waving it off. "As I said, it's fine." He pauses, glancing briefly over my shoulder and into the bar. "Would you like to grab a drink instead?" he asks as he looks back to me. "I could make up for getting in your way." His tone is playful, and I feel my blush deepening despite the biting chill of the rain.

"Um, yeah...sure," I say, utterly baffled that the beautiful man is asking _me_ to have a drink with him.

He ushers me into the dark bar, his hand on the small of my back as he guides me over to his usual booth. I try as gracefully as I can to slide into the seat but of course, I falter. My wet jeans stick to the leather, and my face burns when it squeals in protest.

"Sorry," I mutter incoherently.

He simply smiles, sliding effortlessly into the booth across from me. I discreetly run my fingers through my hair, taming the wet curls as the beautiful man leans back in his seat. We get the awkward introductions out of the way, and I quickly learn his name is Edward. I find it such an old-fashioned name for such a seemingly young man but I figure his parents must be like that.

Besides, it's not like his name makes him any less beautiful, in fact, it seems to suit him. It's unique.

I shrug off my jacket once I'm sufficiently warm and listen to Edward's honeyed voice as he talks about the city. I lose myself in his words, completely enraptured by his soft, deep tone and the way he uses his hands when he speaks.

Although I could have listened to him for hours, Alice comes by to take our order and interrupts the conversation. "Oh, you're back," she comments curiously, briefly casting a glance at Edward. He unleashes that heartbreaking, crooked smile on her, and she looks back to me. "You're still cut off, I'm bringing you water."

Edward laughs at her conviction and orders himself a pint of beer. His eyes meet mine when Alice leaves and he angles his head, watching me interestedly. "So, did you drink a little too much before?" he asks with a note of amusement in his voice.

I playfully narrow my eyes and reply, "Something like that."

He smirks. "Well your secret's safe with me."

He winks flirtatiously at me and I have to look away; I can barely contain how badly I want to lunge across the table and lick the sexy smirk from his lips.

I tap my foot nervously against the floor, trying to control my urges as we start talking again. He asks me questions about my family and my job and I answer, feeling more confident than before. I lean forward with my elbows on the table to get closer to him, and when I look down, I notice he hasn't touched his drink. I frown at it, swiping my finger from the rim to the base in question.

"How come you haven't had a sip?" I ask curiously.

Edward leans forward as well, his flawlessly proportioned face highlighted by the subdued lights above. He looks at me with eyes that are still dark, and still completely mesmerizing.

"I've been incredibly distracted," he says quietly. "I guess I forgot all about it."

I gather quickly he's referring to me; I'm his distraction. Since I'm still riding a nice buzz, I don't blush like I normally do. My lack of inhibition finally kicks in, and I give him what I hope is a sexy smile. "I've been distracted, too," I reply.

Edward's fingers graze mine as we stare at each other, and though his skin is still cold from the rain, I feel fire. My stomach twists in knots, my excitement escalating with his gentle touch. I rub my fingers against his, trailing the tip of my thumb over his protruding knuckle.

Edward's eyes darken and he drops his head, regarding me carefully. I bite the corner of my lip, completely aware of my actions, desperately hoping he'll do something about it. He shifts slightly, taking one of my fingers between his, and he tugs me closer. I lean in further when he lifts my index finger to his lips, pressing the soft, icy skin to the tip.

"Oh," I sigh brokenly. I don't even care that I probably sound like an idiot.

"Want to get out of here?" Edward asks hopefully.

I nod emphatically. I don't even have to think about my answer.

He graciously helps me with my jacket and slips his own on before steering us through the crowded bar. His arm is around me the entire time, keeping me close as he flags down a taxi and slides in beside me. I direct the driver to my apartment, and on the way there, I'm hit with a twinge of uncertainty.

While I'm undoubtedly attracted to Edward like a moth to a flame, I'm not usually one to take complete strangers home with me.

Edward suddenly tightens his arm on my waist, and his cool lips graze my temple. My unease falls away and I sigh, turning my body into his because I'm still a little cold. He asks me if everything is all right, and I nod my head, simply chalking my hesitation up to some serious nerves.

We get out of the cab and enter my building silently, still connected because his hand hasn't left my waist since we began walking. I feel warm again – maybe even more so than before – and since the alcohol has really decided to kick in, I'm aroused. Despite the fact that Edward's hand is still cold, what goes on inside of me is nothing akin to his icy skin – it's the complete opposite.

My body aches and my heart hammers, my fingers yearn and my lips...

My lips are hungry for his.

I'm so lustful that I push Edward up against the wall when we get inside. I stand up on my tip toes, seeking his mouth as I grip the collar of his wet jacket between my fingers. He greets me willingly, hands cupping my back and waist to pull me closer, and he tilts his head.

His lips, the same lips I'd fantasized about, are cool and soft, _so _much softer than I had ever imagined.

His probing tongue meets mine and we kiss eagerly, without pause. Edward doesn't even question my ambush on his mouth; he simply accepts it, reciprocating perfectly, responding to every bite or suck of a lip. It's so intimate and charged that I moan, scraping my nails against the back of his neck as I curl them into his damp hair.

I hold him against me, hitching my leg onto his waist because the alcohol in my system is a tremendous boost to my confidence. In response, he groans into my mouth, and I gasp when Edward's hands grip me hard and lift me off the floor.

He carries me effortlessly, deep within the kiss and yet still able to navigate his way to my couch. I scramble back against the cushions when he sets me down, breathing heavily as I wait for him to join me. He sheds his jacket and shoes, crawling next to me, and I kick off my own shoes and fumble desperately with my jacket.

He places his hands over mine, stilling my frantic movements as he reaches inside the hefty material. He grips it tightly, easily tearing through the seams, before my expensive winter coat falls in a heap around my hips.

I want to be furious with him, to yell at him for ripping a jacket that had cost me an arm and a leg, but frankly, I can't find a reason. I'm too turned on to care about the damn coat.

I pull him back to me, gripping him by the shoulders as I tug at those soft, swollen lips with my teeth. One of his strong arms wraps around my waist, moulding my body to his, and he reclines us both onto the couch. He hovers over top of me, drawing my legs up over his hips as he angles his head and pushes his tongue fervently into my mouth.

I whimper at his divine taste, relishing in the way every inch of my skin physically responds to his touch; the tingle of my lips against his, the sparks in my fingertips as I explore his silky hair, the way my lower back ignites as he slowly manoeuvres his hands up my shirt.

It's so much to feel and take in at once, and before I've made a conscious decision to do anything but kiss him, I hear the audible rip of my shirt when Edward yanks on it. Even though I'm startled at his unorthodox method of undressing me, I find myself smiling against his mouth.

I open my eyes, watching as his meet mine in the dim light of the hallway.

"I hope you plan on buying me some new clothes," I whisper.

I sit up as he peels the torn shirt from my torso and smirks, placing the softest kiss on my lips. "I'll buy you anything you want," he says in reply. His words are low and husky, and when he nimbly pulls his shirt over his head, I can't tear my eyes away. I overtly stare, taking in his exquisite physique and the dark trail of hair that disappears into the waistline of his jeans.

_So beautiful._

Edward bows his body back over mine, drowning my thoughts with his lips and hands, touching and kissing and sucking in all the right places. I tangle my fingers into his hair, urging his mouth closer as he nips at my collarbone and gently bites on my throat.

Although it feels nothing short of amazing, the foreplay is too much to withstand. I take it upon myself to finish undressing, deftly undoing the button on my jeans and wiggling my hips as Edward assists in removing them.

He makes quick work of the rest of the restrictions between us, pushing everything to the floor before he pulls me on top of him. I straddle his waist, clutching the back of the couch, and his hands skim down my back to roughly grab my ass. He pushes his hips into mine, causing my breathing to falter, because his icy skin alternately stimulates and shocks me.

I want to ask why he's so cold, but when he latches his mouth onto my neck and sheathes himself inside me, the question dies on my lips. I hunch forward, moaning at the contact as I try to match him thrust for thrust, rolling my hips down when he pumps up. My thighs burn deliciously after only minutes, and I slow my movements, whimpering because it feels so good I don't want to stop.

Edward can feel my dwindling pace, though, and he pauses, tipping me down so my back is resting on the coffee table. I gasp at the change in angle, crying out exceptionally loud when his pelvis rocks into me and triggers my orgasm. My entire body shakes as I come and I toss my head back while Edward's teeth return to my throat, biting and sucking my skin so hard I know he'll leave a mark. It briefly occurs to me that it will be visible with my costume tomorrow night, but with a little make-up or a silky scarf, my problem is solved.

His teeth sink further into my neck, scrambling my thoughts, and while I find he has a certain affection for my throat, I also learn something else about Edward.

_He's got stamina._

He takes me on the coffee table, the floor, over the arm of the couch. We end up in the bedroom, rattling my old, wooden dresser as it haphazardly smacks against the wall with each of Edward's deep thrusts. I'm digging my nails into his back, anchoring myself to him as he rests one hand on the wall behind me and uses the other to grip my thigh.

He moves his lips up from my throat, nibbling absently on my ear before he gasps, "Bella-"

His pace quickens briefly, and he shudders against me, moaning softly when he finds his release. He lays his head on my shoulder, relaxing marginally as the overwhelming heat between our bodies slowly dissipates. I can feel the coldness of his skin once again and I lean into him, shivering at the sublime contrast in temperature.

Edward pulls out eventually and helps me down from the dresser. I stumble when my feet touch the floor, probably because my legs feel like goo and between my thighs is absolutely throbbing. But Edward catches me, laughing quietly as he bears most of my weight and guides me over to the bed.

I climb in, snuggling underneath the warm comforter, and he sits on the edge.

"Are you going to stay?" I ask quietly, and my eyes involuntarily shut. I'm suddenly very sleepy.

Edward sweeps my hair away from my face, affectionately rubbing his thumb over a sensitive spot on my neck. I hiss at the mild, stinging pain and I scrunch my nose up, leaning into his touch.

"I can't," he replies quietly, "I wish I could, but I can't." I nod sadly as the spot on my neck throbs and he continues, "But I'll see you tomorrow. I wouldn't miss opening night." I smile at how he remembered and sigh in contentment.

"Goodnight, Isabella," he whispers in my ear, "sweet dreams."

.

.

_I run, away from the storm, away from something I can't see. I pass the same stores and the same lamp posts on the same street, dragging myself through the downpour to an unknown destination. I push myself, ignoring the burn in my legs as my chest begins to heave with my effort._

_I stop eventually, desperate for breath, for this unending nightmare to go away. I look up from the ground and into the rain, catching sight of the man, the one I always see. I feel my heart rate pick up, in anticipation of my scream, but it never comes._

_Instead of staying concealed in the shadows like he usually does, the man takes a step forward._

_I finally see his face._

And I don't scream when I wake up, I gasp.

The man in my nightmares is Edward.

* * *

A/N: Leave some love! Let me know how I'm doing :) Teasers will go out to those who review.


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